I was a strange man in a strange town with a strange name ("Hairy Corners")
on a strange mission. I walked into the town hall and asked to see the
mayor. This caused some consternation, and the civil servants all gathered
in the corner, muttering and gesticulating and occasionally laughing or
staring at me in a rude yet endearing way. While I waited, I observed the
intricate stonework before me, suddenly realizing the there wasn't a piece
of wood in the whole place, that the entire building was a single piece of
stone. The knowledge made me uncomfortable, and I warily adjusted my
hairpiece.

The civil servants, having sacrificed one of their number in a small
portable propane altar, seemed to have come to some sort of decision. One
of them (who had the head of a pelican) approached me, and said, "The
mayor's out. We can give you a list of the local extrema, however." He
offered me a damp, smelly sheet of paper that appeared to contain a map of
the town with some sort of contours drawn on it. "I need the mayor," I said
insistently. Pelican Head twitched. "No can do. You want the local extrema,
that's fine. Fifty dark souls and a gram of pocket lint for voodoo
insurance purposes. *Your* pocket lint, no fakes. We have ways of detecting
fakes."

I was thwarted. I didn't have any pockets. A terrible thing, not to have
pockets. Dejectedly, I stumbled out of the town hall. As I looked back, the
civil servants seemed to be arguing over the map. My hairpiece was itching
me, now, and I decided to see if I could find some ointment.